Village oil bath

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We village boys take oil baths naked and I’m not even a little ashamed about it.

Every Sunday the backyard turns into a full-on oil festival. Big brass vessel of hot water, bottle of gingelly oil, old plastic chairs, and a bunch of us boys sitting there completely bare, oil dripping from head to toe like we just got deep-fried. Head massage, shoulder massage, the whole body shining, waiting under the tree while the oil “soaks in.” Then the proper bath.

And every single time city relatives visit, their faces go through the same five stages of trauma.

First they freeze.

Then they look away.

Then they whisper to each other like we just committed a crime.

Then they start giving speeches about “privacy” and “what will people think.”

Then they act like we’ve personally attacked their modern values.

Bro. It’s a backyard. Surrounded by walls and trees. The only audience is two cows, three crows, and maybe a neighbour aunty who’s seen us like this since we were five. We’re not doing a photoshoot. We’re doing an oil bath the way our fathers and grandfathers did it.

You people come from cities where kids wear three layers of clothes to play in the park and still somehow catch a cold. We sit naked under the sun with oil on our skin and somehow grow up stronger than your protein-powder generation. But sure, we’re the weird ones.

The second they see a shiny, oily, naked village boy the lectures start. “Cover up!” “This is not decent!” “In this generation?” Meanwhile their own kids are glued to phones and scared of actual sunlight.

I’m tired of the shock. I’m tired of the sudden moral police attitude that only appears when they step into a village. This is how we grew up. This is normal here. Oil bath is not a scandal. It’s a weekly reset button for the body.

What are you views